


Ghost

by cosmicqueer



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Aggressive Hawke, Angst, Canon Dialogue, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Red Hawke, Rivalry, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 22:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10954218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicqueer/pseuds/cosmicqueer
Summary: Fenris brushed his exposed palm against the tips of Hawke’s fingers. The Champion’s hand was rough from his dagger’s hilts and the feel of unimportant men who preceded Fenris, yet soft in the wrinkling fabric of its love. The cloth had been dipped into the rage so often that the threads had become tinted and tangled with the infectious dye, the seams straining but never threatening to tear.And then Hawke pulled away, breaking the stillness of the night.





	Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> i almost forgot that im a softie for fenris but then i replayed da2. goddammit
> 
> this is a lot of long winded fighting and longing glances hope u enjoy
> 
> [the love youre given - jack garratt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bOWWLytfmnU)

Billowing pink and orange smoke splattered the tired sky above the docks. Fenris wrinkled his noise at the stench and turned his head towards the port where the boats, chained to the concrete shore, creaked in the wind. Their screeching harmonized with the flapping crimson flags stitched with the Kirkwall insignia and torn from old age. Underneath his toes, dirt and pebbles crunched against the white-washed stones.

Following Hawke’s silent boots, Fenris padded along glumly, passing one of the innumerable, weathered, raven statuettes plaguing the architecture of the city. He refrained from sneering at its menacing beak in favor of gazing at the back of the other man’s cloak. In the distance, a living bird called out to the tune of the distant, howling wolf, the incessant hum of cicadas a haunting choir in the background. Still, the warrior trailed after the Champion, spiked fingers tugging at his red ribbon.

Footsteps along the uneven, wooden balconies assured the elf that they were not alone in their travels. He and Hawke pretended they were unaware in hopes of not revealing their knowledge of their enemies’ positions. The other half of their team, Anders and Varric, still babbled some feet behind Hawke’s lead, but their banter was accompanied by strained laughter and trailing eyes.

As the party advanced further into foes’ territory, the silence of the area became almost stifling. It was unlikely that the courtyard they entered was outfitted for public gatherings, and it came as no surprise when they stumbled upon a faulty stone.

“Trap!” Hawke hissed, putting out his hand to halt any further movements from the team. “Watch your step.”

While he leaned down and dismantled the switch plates embedded in the concrete, the sound of movement increased over their heads. Anders immediately pulled out his staff, the wood howling in the breeze as he moved into a defensive stance at Varric’s flank. The dwarf was already sliding a fresh set of bolts into his crossbow. Fenris’ eyes flitted between the three other men, his fingers itching to extract his great sword, hovering around the handle.

Hawke stood. The clicking noise had alerted them that he’d finished his work, but it seemed to have also startled the culprits who had set up the line of traps. A loud whistle called all of their gazes up to a ledge just as men and women began to hurl themselves down to the ground. From behind, footsteps approached, drumming against the stairs as they descended.

Fenris wasted no time heaving his sword from his back, quickly angling his blindside away to cover Hawke’s as the Champion wordlessly ordered the mage and dwarf to opposite points across the plaza. As they took position, two assassins cloaked themselves in the night sky as archers lined the edges of the makeshift battlements.

“Kill them!” A man yelled, leading the others from the steps as he rounded the corner. He raised his shield towards the sky with a bellowing cry. There was a design painted on the front, faded and dirtied from use but it was still visible, just barely, what could it possibly –?

Fenris straightened his shoulders. The Tevinter Imperium. “Slavers.” He snarled.

“ _Good_ ,” Hawke growled in response, swinging his daggers. “Let’s get started.”

The Champion reached under his cloak and revealed a flask. He flicked the grenade off his weapon and into the air, then kicked it towards the incoming swarm, stunning them briefly enough for him to recede into the darkness. Taking advantage of their indisposed state, Varric caught the elf’s eyes and nodded, then set off his first hail of arrows, encompassing the better half of the courtyard. Fenris charged into the crowd at the same moment, knocking down multiple bodies and engaging the men and women left standing. He cleaved expertly through their defenses, ripping off the limbs caught in his path, all embedded with Varric’s bolts, while keeping his eyes and ears aware of the signals and ever-changing positions of his allies.

It was during the first particularly brutal showdown of the evening – between Fenris and the last few melee fighters of the initial group, one of which was equipped with a sword which dwarfed the size of his own great axe – that an arrow flew past the elf’s knee, catching the cloth of his trousers and ripping into his skin as it grazed by. He choked on a gasp at the sudden sting, turning his wild eyes towards the archer.

Impossible, it would have been, for him to fight through the slave hunters focused on him and deal with the rogue immediately. Hawke appeared at his side a moment after hearing the distressed bellow, his daggers sliding into the softest spots of the weakened warriors to aid assistance in clearing them out. Fenris sank his axe into the thigh of an unarmed enemy. He nodded towards the woman with the bow and shouted a garbled, “Anders!”

The mage quipped, finishing off a distressed slaver, “This is my favorite part!” His comment earned a boisterous laugh from Varric as he raised his arms towards the midnight sky, glyphs teasing his fingertips. Spheres of fire hurtled towards the ground in a large ring, flames singeing the bodies of the slave hunters. A mangled scream of agony arose from the archer as her flesh melted off her face and arm, weapon discarded in favor of swatting at the burning skin. Another fireball silenced her quickly, leaving a lingering smell of ash in the air.

As the healer’s hands repositioned their hold on his staff, a dissipating cloud of smoke revealed the assassin lurking behind him. Hawke, still dipping in and out of the background in between strikes, issued a short warning that consisted only of, “ _Behind!_ ”, but caught Anders’ attention. Fenris watched out of the corner of his eye as the mage turned elegantly on his heel and speared the rogue with his weapon. He channeled enough energy to send a blazing blast through his staff, which hurled the gasping woman to the elf’s feet.

After Fenris finished off the burning bodies still crowding around him, he stepped on the woman’s leg to prevent her from squirming away. Cleanly, his great axe sliced through her shoulders. She began to scream, but the warrior silenced her horrible noises with a pommel strike forceful enough to snap her neck.

There was a momentary pause saturated with heavy breathing, a slight breeze, and the rattling of ships.

Hawke revealed his location, a cloud dissipating around him as he emerged at Fenris’ side. They stared at each other for a long moment, bruised but not beaten. The elf was the first to look away, too conscious of the burning intensity of the human’s eyes on him even afterwards.

Varric sauntered over to the pair, Anders on his heels. “There’s no way that’s all of ‘em,” the dwarf noted, adjusting his jacket lapels. He seemed almost unscathed, save for a bit of ash smeared across his cheek and nose. “Not with the way they’ve been guarding this precious gem.”

“Agreed.” Fenris mumbled, tapping his fingers against the small shield on his hip. Hawke’s eyes followed the movement, the warrior could _feel_ it, before he turned his attention to their other teammates.

“We’re not prepared for a large fight, Champion. Lowtown could be described as chaotic at best this evening.” Anders warned, tightening the band around his hair.

“Those bandits have it out for us, I’m telling you,” Varric commented. His hands gestured dramatically as he spoke, “You kill one of ‘em, you gotta kill ‘em all. Kinda like a dog eats dog situation, except less dogs. Unless you count Fereldens.”

Commotion could be heard from the buildings surrounding the square, obvious signs of the enemy gaining knowledge of the fighting that had just occurred outside their windows. The party watched and waited with bated breathes, and before long, toes could be heard pounding against the ground.

“Get ready!” Hawke snarled, whipping out his weapons.

During the last few seconds of serenity, Varric reloaded his crossbow, Anders downed a mana regeneration flask, and Hawke used the edge of his cloak to clean the skin from his daggers. Fenris utilized the fraction of time as well, steeling himself for more brutal strikes to his body and allowing the lyrium in his flesh to churn to life. As they each rotated position, the mage cast a barrier around the inconspicuous Champion just in time for the next group of slavers to make their appearance.

There were less enemies than previously as they rounded the corner, yet they were better equipped for battle. Still, Fenris’ shout had many of them faltering in their concentration and gravitating towards him, as intended. One, he noticed, spotted Hawke in the darkness and followed after the man with their own knives drawn. A pang in the elf’s chest had him longing to protect the Champion of Kirkwall, but he knew that his desires had no place in combat, and would only falter the team’s effectiveness. So, he forced himself to focus on the incoming assailants.

Fenris was silently thankful that Anders had cast a haste glyph during his bout of indecision. As he knocked the shield out of a warrior’s hands, Hawke appeared behind the disarmed man and slit his throat in a smooth movement. The rogue knocked the body down to the ground and looked up into the elf’s verdant eyes. And there it was, that masked adoration which passed between them during the worst of times, often clouded with biting insults and brutal tongues in moments when they had the choice to be gentle. They blinked at each other in the midst of the slowed enemies, and time shattered.

“One less to worry about.” Hawke growled, then returned to his position in the shadows. He was always a smoking cloud of lethal, precise strikes and dual fangs, marking his enemies before making quick work of them. _Not just in battle_ , Fenris angrily noted as he engaged the slavers now released from Anders’ magic.

Once again, he found himself surrounded. Swords caught his armor from all angles, attempting to harm him before he could swipe their bodies aside. It was futile, as the fight would end in their deaths regardless of whether or not they landed a critical hit, but one mace managed to gash his forehead. Bracing his bare feet against the stone, Fenris brought his axe heavily down against the ground, sending each warrior hurling away as their weapons clattered to the concrete. The pained cries of the survivors allowed the elf to easily weed out the remaining foes and clobber them over the head with the hilt of his weapon until their breathing ceased.

Around him, Hawke’s chorus of blades could be heard in the nighttime breeze, a beautiful lullaby with background instrumentals provided by Anders’ stream of fiery magic. The sound of the slavers last cries as Fenris beat them into the ground added a variance in the tune Varric was whistling.

A cocky assassin, the same one who tracked Hawke earlier, seemed to linger too close for the dwarf’s comfort. His song faltered only when the daggers sank into his back, and he whipped around to clobber the human with the hilt of his crossbow. With precision technique, Varric loaded a kickback arrow from his belt and aimed for the dual wielder’s torso. As his blades sliced through the air near the dwarf’s shoulder, Varric sent the man flying backwards into a nearby brick wall, knocking the air clear out of his lungs.

“That had to hurt!” Varric chortled with a wicked grin. His smile momentarily faltered as he turned and saw two incoming enemies. The whole team moved to assist, but rather than backing away, he swung Bianca again and again, whacking the legs out from under a warrior and slamming his bow into their skull. The crunch of their cheekbone could be heard throughout the square, the final note following the wispy ashes of the other slaver floating towards the moon, compliments of the mage.

After what appeared to be the end, Fenris almost let himself relax into his regular hunched posture, but a small group of stragglers swung down from the balconies. He heaved his great axe back into his arms again and listened as Hawke issued orders in his silent way of communicating. It took a surprising amount of effort to follow out the command, which only consisted of advancing to the frontlines and shouting to gain the attention of the remaining melee enemies and pair of archers.

He did not fully realize how low his stamina and health were dipping until he nearly had his head knocked off by an arrow. After missing the elf, the arrow continued towards the unknowing healer, who was too preoccupied with casting a fireball on the slavers to notice its path. It lodged in the human’s elbow just as Fenris hit one of the slave hunters in the jaw, the pain forcing a shout from Anders’ dry throat.

The elf couldn’t pause, not when he was now busy dealing with the warriors, and had to listen as the mage pulled the arrow out from his skin with a gasp. He could not stop, even as Hawke delivered a series of deadly cuts to one of the archers, who promptly thudded to the ground in the background of his pounding headache.

“Fenris!” Hawke shouted as he tore his blades out from the other rogue’s flesh. He had caught sight of more incoming enemies and began to exasperatedly yell, “You can’t handle them alone!”

With every panting breath, Fenris could taste the salt water in the humid air and the tangy metal of the blood gushing from above his left eye. He ground his teeth as he felt the skin beginning to stitch itself back together, the magic cloaking his glowing lyrium in a warm, suffocating blanket. A large breath of air filled his lungs and he forced himself to continue the battle, turning to block an incoming strike from a slaver’s sword.

“Clearly, I can, Hawke!” He grumbled back. The human swore.

The slave hunter whipped around at the exact moment Hawke appeared at her flank. She caught him unprepared and, with a strong bash from her shield, sent the rogue to the ground. He groaned quietly, hood sliding off as he pulled himself to his feet, narrowly avoiding a volley of arrows.

He cursed, “ _Fuck._ Using potion!” The man slipped a bottle off from the belt around his waist. He dodged another swing of the shield as he downed the contents, coughing at the bitter taste and throwing the empty jar down on the ground, causing it to shatter.

Fenris called out a taunt to regain the woman’s attention, allowing the rejuvenated Champion to disappear in his slippery way. The elf made quick work of cutting her down, but two other warriors crowded against his back, swinging their weapons at him. An arrow from Varric pinned one of them to the concrete, and Fenris could hear the second enemy archer dropping lifelessly from the effects of Anders and Hawke’s combined abilities.

In a whirlwind of motion, the elf cleaved through the slave hunter’s shields and lodged his axe in one of their abdomens. Fenris sank his elbow into the man’s shoulder as he tore his weapon free, splattering himself with boiling blood. The injured man let out a guttural scream as he drained out onto the stone, a series of the dwarf’s arrows stabbing into his arms. His shaking hand reached to cover the wounds as he glared up at the elf, raising his mace while Fenris readied to dodge the swing.

Instead of having to evade the weapon, the other man had blocked his teammate’s slash. The enemy shouted at his partner, “Leave the pretty ones alive!”

Fenris’ eyes flashed. He could not recall ripping their hearts from their chests.

The taste of their tainted skin was unwelcome, but it lingered even as he wiped their splatter from his cheek. He was ripped away from his vengeful moment as he heard the commotion from the other side of the courtyard; if the bitter smell of unfamiliar magic wasn’t enough of a threatening signal, Varric’s yelp as he was encased in a crushing, static prison had Fenris moving quickly.

A frantic mage had appeared from the battlements, all alone, and began tossing lightening from his twirling glyphs. The focus on the spellcaster was unanimous, as the rest of the enemies had been eliminated, and the mage’s panic was evident in his stance and quivering expression.

Hawke emerged from the shadows behind Fenris, only to shout, “I’ll deal with this!”, before disappearing into a cloud of black smoke. The warrior tried to follow the other man with his gaze, but the Champion had vanished. With a sneer, the elf rallied the party and began to charge.

He wasn’t even halfway to the abomination when Hawke stepped into the moonlight. Fenris’ feet almost faltered when he caught sight of the human’s movements. He dodged a chain of lightening and growled, raising his great axe as Varric’s projectiles whizzed past him and Anders collapsed, yelling out as the electricity buzzed through his veins.

“Blondie!” Varric called, shooting off a rapid fire of arrows. His fatigued arms almost dropped his crossbow from the powerful impact. “Aw, _shit_.”

Fenris could not stop to assist the fallen ally, but also wasn’t granted the chance to engage the enemy. He was nearly in range when Hawke struck a lethal blow, effectively killing the man in a single strike. The screaming of metal and the wet sounds of tearing flesh accompanied the mage’s groans of pain, and the enemy spellcaster fell to his knees, before the weight of his shoulders crushed his nose into the stone.

The team’s gasping breaths vibrated against the walls. It was over.

Once his weapon was hooked firmly between his shoulder blades, Fenris paused to readjust the red ribbon around his wrist, twisting it so the knot was no longer in danger of falling out. Nearby, he faintly heard Hawke’s blades singing in the ocean breeze as they were sheathed. The elf turned his neck to watch as the human flipped his hood back up, then reached down and ripped a crumpled note from the pocket of the bleeding mage. The letter began to stain quickly from the flesh splattered up the rogue’s arms. Fenris shook his head and huffed, then advanced a few steps, passing the others.

“I think I broke every bone in my body.” Anders grumbled, using his staff to hold his weight as he stumbled to his feet. Varric slapped the mage on the back and heartily laughed, cutting himself off with a cough as Hawke shouted expletives and threw the now tattered note to the ground. Fenris ignored them all, and bent down to rifle through the pockets of the nearest fallen enemy. In his peripheral vision, he spotted the two ranged members of their party giving Hawke a wide girth and frightful glances, weary of his every move as they collected themselves.

Fenris’ finds were not as lucky as his previous instances of looting on quests: mere silver, a near empty bottle of whiskey, and a slaver whip. A part of him – the violent, hateful streak which ravished his mind, tarnished the words on his tongue, spilled blood over what was real and true as he ran the leather between his gauntlet cloaked fingers – wanted to wrap the cord around the throat of its owner, already lying dead and empty on the concrete of the docks, and pretend he was constricting their breathing. He wished to watch the light fade from their eyes as they scrambled with wilting nails and choking gasps to struggle against the hold he had on the cord. Fenris yearned to growl at them and rip out their throat with his bare teeth like the animal Danarius had tried to train him to be. A useless punishment for the vile atrocities the lifeless slaver on the ground had committed.

A hand on his shoulder, gentle but firm, stubborn but never forceful, and a whisper into the damp air, so quiet it was almost lost against the rolling sea, “Are you alright?”

Fenris let himself relax into the weight of that grip, greedily absorbing the heat emulating from Hawke’s reassuring touch as he crouched at the side of a body with spilt organs. The human always understood, how could he appear so patient in these sparse moments and exist in the same world that had taught the elf only the struggle of survival and shown him the plight of morality? But then, there was that other half of himself again, a voice screaming to rip the hand from the Champion’s arm, though he desired to also press a kiss to every knuckle.

He nodded, clutching the leather whip tighter, “Yes.”

“Good.” Hawke spat. “I don’t plan to wait all evening for you to stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Fenris bristled. The hand lingered then slipped away, glove catching on the spiked shoulder of the elf’s armor.

Before the man was out of arms reach, Fenris turned around and brushed his exposed palm against the tips of Hawke’s fingers in a halfhearted attempt at returning the gesture. Another short pause passed between the two vulnerable men. Hawke’s hand was rough from his dagger’s hilts and the feel of unimportant men who preceded Fenris, yet soft in the wrinkling fabric of its love. The cloth had been dipped into the rage so often that the threads had become tinted and tangled with the infectious dye, the seams straining but never threatening to tear.

And then Hawke pulled away, breaking the stillness of the night.

“I. . . remain at your side.” Fenris whispered as he stood, dropping the slaver’s whip back on their corpse. Hawke did not offer a hand to pull the warrior up. Instead, he nodded sharply and turned on his heel to stomp away and nudge at another dead body with the toe of his boot, rolling it over on the salt-licked concrete in hopes of finding valuables, presumably.

As the elf moved to survey his teammates, he noticed Varric standing off to the sidelines, pretending he was not eavesdropping or mentally noting the hushed interaction and the physical contact. His front would have almost been plausible if not for the wide grin he wore as he tugged on the sleeves of his jacket. The mage did not even notice the dwarf’s disinterest in his rambling, so Varric clearly had some people fooled.

Fenris growled. The dwarf raised an eyebrow. Anders looked between them confusedly, before exasperatedly running a hand through his hair, shaking his head, and following Hawke, who had begun to exit the courtyard. The final two members of the party continued after the Champion as well, stepping through splatters of blood and around torched bodies, leaving red footprints trailing behind them as they embarked on the next part of their journey. Each hoped to find solace in the places they called home.

The walk back through the winding streets of the lower village market was uneventful and near silent between the companions. Even as Varric swung open the door to the Hanged Man he left with little more than a sideways smile and a wave. Anders made his departure there as well, stiffy offering his wish of a “nice evening” to the remaining two men before quickly shuffling down to his underground clinic.

Below the midnight moon, to the sound of bumping chains and distant wildlife, Fenris and Hawke ascended the steps towards Hightown. The red lanterns at the top of the staircase glowed like the faces of angels in the darkness, strung up along the Maker’s ceiling. Before their feet could depart along separate paths, their edges blurred under the warmth of the lights and the whistle of the wind. Only the ravens were present to see their lips touch.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah… xavier hawke is an insufferable man but i love him to pieces. takes place sorta during gamlen’s greatest treasure
> 
> thank u so much for reading, all feedback is appreciated!!
> 
> find me @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/vividvalkyrie) / [tumblr](http://vividvalkyrie.tumblr.com/)


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